


of odd numbers and intimate regrets

by bravely (commovente)



Series: the spaces between (your fingers and mine) [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Constipation, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Unresolved Tension, iwaizumi is full of denial and oikawa just doesn't want to be alone, one night stand au that refuses to stay a one night stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente/pseuds/bravely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.</p><p>[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *resists the temptation to revert into second person POV*
> 
> *sweats nervously*

**“And nobody felt sad as long as we could postpone tomorrow with more nostalgia.”**

**\- Stephen Chbosky, _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_**

* * *

 

Three, five, seven, nine.

Oikawa Tooru remembers in odd numbers - habits, memories, hopes and dreams - all assigned a number, then sorted away into the vast recesses of his mental filing cabinet.

Three is the number for things fixed in place, constants in his life and recollections too regularly perused to ever gather dust on the edges, blur into a stream of other memories Tooru’d rather not think about (those are the nines; not quite as auspicious as eight, but also not as whole or put-together as ten. A number for almosts, what-ifs, bad choices and things that wind up as regret). But three? Three is good, three is safe. Triangles have three edges; the most secure of structures use triangular bases. Think three for pyramids, three for finishing first or second or third place, three for the years spent playing volleyball in middle school and high school. Lasting constructions, set in stone that won’t leave you alone or empty.

Three is solid, three is secure.

But.

There was once a time when Tooru used to file things of the highest importance with the number two. Two was small, intimate; things kept close to the heart and people kept even closer. A simple segregation, an easy dichotomy - two like winners and losers, two like before and after, two like a partner to make you feel invincible, two for the time when he was with him and then for the time when he wasn’t —

— Tooru’d rather not think about that. He’d rather not remember, always sticking to what was comfortable, safe. After all, three’s a crowd, and it’s impossible to be lonesome then, yeah? If he continues like this and keeps telling himself that, Tooru wonders if a day will come when he’ll finally believe it.

**intimate /ˈɪntɪmət/**

**_adjective_. closely acquainted, familiar; something private or personal **

A study once said that it only takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Keep at it for twenty-one days, and the mind starts to think of it as routine, adopts it as just another part of its everyday schedule. This is something Tooru can believe. He’s been consolidating a habit of avoiding aloneness; keeping company in hotel rooms and apartment beds made of vacant looks and full touches, of heavy breaths and even heavier hearts, of mornings-after with someone else’s smell still clinging to the sheets. It’s not something he’s proud of, but it’s not really something he can do without anymore. It only takes twenty-one days to form a habit, and seven years is a long time to get used to never getting used to any one person, not anymore, and —

Suffice it to say,Tooru isn’t proud of a lot of things in his life. But in the grand scheme of events, a penchant for hangovers and a dependency upon being dependent aren’t really anything to write home about. And so it goes, the great repetitive cycle of the life of Oikawa Tooru, Japan’s Olympic volleyball superstar and sports personality extraordinaire:

Mondays to Thursdays training and eating and sleeping so he can train again. The first half of Fridays off, because he’s not getting any younger and he’s reached a point in his life where he’s learned to be responsible for his well-being himself; Friday nights finding company to last longer than the solace of alcohol; Saturdays forgetting himself and Sundays picking the pieces back together just to do it all over again.

A familiar pattern.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

And so it goes, and so it goes. Tooru is, at heart, a creature of habit; he’s broken down his life and built it back up around this new schedule, constructed its walls and cemented it as routine. Which means it’s done, which means its _permanent_. Also, today is Friday, and it’s getting late into the afternoon, which means it’s time to get out of his house and find somewhere, some _one_ to get him out of his head and into theirs, just for a little while.

***

His head hurts. It’s Saturday morning, or at least he thinks it is - there’s light streaming through cracks in the curtains, a faint hum coming from the whirring air-conditioner; and the even fainter hum of someone’s breathing by his side, and — oh. Right. Today is a Saturday and there is someone breathing next to him with a name different from his own, which means he isn’t alone, which means he’ll have to postpone the last few steps in his cycle of forgetting and remembering for just a little longer.

Turning over in the bed, Tooru discovers three things, alarm bells going off louder and louder in his head with each one. These are, respectively, that:

  1. He can’t turn over, because whoever he came home with is still encircled around him, securing him firmly to his side - Tooru’s back to not-Tooru’s chest; tanned, lean muscular arms around his waist, making him feel safe and secure and —
  2. — this isn’t the way it works, not the way it _goes_. Tooru’s meant to lose himself in ever-changing strangers according to the ever-present constancy of his weekly schedule, but not in a way that’s soft and tender, that makes him want to snuggle himself even deeper into those arms. Get closer and closer until the distance between them is so negligible it couldn't even be called distance at all. To make the touches linger, leaving a trail of emotions to the corner of his chest (read: his _heart_ ) that he hasn’t really let anyone, least of all himself, have access to in a long time.
  3. This isn’t like losing himself, so it’s not what Tooru wants. What he wants from his company, his keepsake lovers and lonely (no, he’s not lonely, that’s not what he meant at all, lonely sounds a lot like being alone and Tooru’s already established that he’s successfully evaded that for a long, long time now), if temporary kindred spirits, is to lose himself in someone else for a while, not look for himself in said company in the kind of way that makes him want to keep looking for a long, long time.



Having properly established the following breaches of unsaid-but-still-expected conduct in his head, Tooru then, with some difficulty, directs his higher brain functions to the rather (bothersome, arduous) unpleasant task of informing said offender of his breaches in one-night-stand code of conduct.

But fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, Tooru’s not quite sure what to make of the distinct feeling of loss as those arms stop their immediate connection to his waist. He’s just cold now, that’s all. Yes, he’s always been quite sensitive to chill and this code-of-conduct offender just happened to be hot as a furnace on a winter day) he’s spared the trouble of doing so by the stranger himself. Because he is a he, as Tooru’s lovers tend to fall into a certain demographic of tan and strong and rough but not unkind, and he refuses to admit that this must be some kind of masochistic streak he’s gone and encouraged for seven long years, absolutely not - and he’s not lying about that either, because he might be full of regrets but he’s not a liar, he’s not he’s not he’s _not_.

So the stranger disentangles himself, in the process adding distance enough between their bodies for Tooru to turn around. Rather suddenly, he finds himself only inches away from a face that’s as familiar as it is painful, and o _h god_ no wonder his head hurts, he must’ve been smashed six ways to Sunday to let himself get away with doing this, _oh god oh god oh god_ he’s fucked up and now he’s found something else to top the list of nines he’s been collecting in his head.

From the chaos breaking loose in the confines of Tooru’s mind, he dimly registers the horrified look of recognition beginning to dawn across Iwa-chan’s - no, Iwaizumi’s - no, that’s not quite right either, god damn it _all_ he can’t even say his _name_ anymore - irritatingly pleasing, if a little (read: a lot) distressed, plain features.

You could’ve heard a pin drop - slicing through the suddenly heavy atmosphere in the room as it fell - with how quiet it had gotten; just the faint hum and whirr of the air conditioner, the uncomfortably loud silence between two people with far too many words left unsaid.

***

In an unassuming apartment amidst the hustle and bustle of Tokyo’s busy streets, two souls more than friends but less than lovers look into each other’s eyes again for the first time in seven years.

Quite predictably, all hell breaks loose.

Like a two-man war in the middle of a city well-accustomed to peace.

 

…there are no guarantees for survivors.

***

_“ Iwa-chaaan!”_

_Oikawa Tooru is six years old, headstrong and obstinate, the very picture of childish petulance. He’s best friends with Iwaizumi Hajime, also six years old; strong and steady for his age, if a little prone to violence when concerning bratty, trashy and reluctantly-admitted best friends. Together, the two make a pair that is six years in the making and a lifetime in warranty._

_“…what is it now, Oikawa?”_

_“…why’d you pause before answering, Iwa-chan? How rude. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d think you don’t even wanna play with me at all!”_

_“That’s because I don’t, trashy Oikawa. What do you want?”_

_“You’re such a bully AND a liar, Iwa-chan, this is why you don’t have any other friends. But that’s okay. The amazing Oikawa-san is here to make sure you’re never lonely.”_

_“…whatever, Trashykawa. It’s probably just ‘cause they don’t wanna stick around YOU. Let’s go put on that dumb alien movie you like so much.”_

_“So you DID know what I wanted - and stop shortening insults, Iwa-chan!!”_

_They were a living contradiction. Tooru and Hajime, a friendship built from well-practiced banter and secret smiles, breathless laughter and shared dreams. Two childhood friends, lonely and hesitant without the other, but fearless and bright together. Untouchable and invulnerable, two children playing heroes and make-believe, with a future that looked happy and endless and hopeful. Just two kids living life in a world of play pretend, and - also the beginning of the end._

_The downward spiral was slow, subtle and almost non-existent, but it was there. Because even if they were opposites on the outside, inside they were both the same, and everyone knows it’s the inside that matters most, anyway._

 

 

_…You know how it goes already, right?_

 

 

_Opposites pull each other, attracted; identical things push each other away, repulsed._

***

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him now. Take care of yourself, don’t push too hard, it doesn’t matter if you can’t win all the time, it doesn’t matter if you’re on your own - Iwa-chan’s not here to anchor his head from the clouds, Iwa-chan’s not here to stop him from hurting himself…Iwa-chan’s not here to make him invincible, Iwa-chan’s not here so who does he have to make sure is never lonely?

Alone, alone, alone.

It doesn’t matter anymore that he’s finally here, right in front of him, face-to-face and just inches away. Seven years is a long time to get used to new habits. So, while the space between Tooru and Hajime’s fingers has never been smaller, it’s also never been further apart.

Alone, alone, alone.

***

_“I this, I that, it’s pissing me off - thaty’s why there are six people on the court, dumbass! It’s the team with the strongest six that wins the match.”_

_“…”_

_A sharp intake of breath, a slightly muffled sniffle._

_“…uh, did I hit you too hard or something? Oikawa…”_

_Flowing tears, choked laughter._

_“…you know what, Iwa-chan? Right now, I feel kinda invincible.”_

***

“Oikawa?”

Tooru doesn’t feel particularly invincible right now. Alone, alone, alone. Ugh, why must he always remember these things (or: why can’t he just move on and forget)? Nines and regrets and other unpleasantries that are much more tolerable when softened around the edges with the ephemeral effects of alcohol and short-lived affections. Iwa-chan’s not here, he’s not in front of him, not the Iwa-chan Tooru knows, anyway - he doesn’t need this new, silent Iwa-chan, who he should probably be calling Iwaizumi-san now, because childhood nicknames suggest endearment, familiarity, _intimacy_.

Tooru doesn’t really know the stranger in front of him, not anymore.

 

 

But.

Old habits die hard.

 

“…hi, Iwa-chan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...im so sorry what have i done
> 
> also, the next chapter is the last and follows on from iwaizumi's pov
> 
> as always, thank you for reading, feel free to leave any thoughts/opinions/criticisms below !!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the entirety of his twenty-five years, there has never been anything that he’s wanted more than this, even with seven years of silence occupying the space between them.
> 
> ... After all, Hajime’s always loved Oikawa more than he cared about himself. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. this came out longer than i expected...i wasn't originally intending on expanding the back story of this AU, but then my hand just slipped so. here you go, bigger and sadder with twice the angst expected.
> 
> ...i promise the "Angst with a Happy Ending" tag isn't a lie, hhhh

**“He gave me that night back and this time, I told you the truth. We talked and held each other till the sun came up. And as I went to hell, the devil asked me if it was worth it. I said yes. Yes it was.” - Iain Thomas, _The Bargain_**

* * *

 

_Dimmed lights, bright eyes. Pulsing bass, beating hearts. Careful touches belying careless desires._

_Hajime shouldn’t be doing this._

_They’re not kissing, not doing any more than this, really - silent motions in the dark, full of bated breath and traitorous hands, not so much caressing as they are clinging - and Hajime’s not drunk but Oikawa is, so he shouldn’t be allowing this, shouldn’t let himself get quite so close again, not when he’d have to leave soon after. Not with this ache in his heart that he keeps picking at, seven years and he’s still not over it, over this, over him; rubbing salt on a wound he won’t let scab over, restlessly seeking temporary reprieve from the long days and even longer nights._

_Hajime shouldn’t want this._

_He shouldn’t, but he does. Oikawa looks older now; a little less whimsical, a little more worldly. It didn’t matter. To Hajime, Oikawa was light personified - dazzling eyes and sparkling smile, grabs your eyes and holds your heart refusing to let go - which makes him the sun, which makes Hajime Icarus, compelled to reach for him, falling just short of the light each and every time._

_Hajime shouldn’t be feeling like this._

_Iwaizumi Hajime, mismatched miracle; a motley representation of a crumbling dichotomy - diligent but not overachieving, stubborn but not unreasonable, the personification of kindness scuffed down to well-placed intentions by a gruff and graceless exterior. Constantly pushing forward even as his head strains itself trying to look back. In the entirety of his twenty-five years, there has never been anything that he’s wanted more than this, even with seven years of silence occupying the space between them._

_Hajime shouldn’t still love him._

_But it’s dark in the club, maybe dark enough to hide them from the rest of the world, if just for a little while. He can have this, he can be honest to himself for the first time in a long time, because Oikawa is too far gone to remember any of this in the morning, which means he’s not doing anything wrong, not breaking any of the rules, so this is fine (it’s not, it’s not)._

_A breathy noise, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and it takes him a minute to recognise that the voice is his._

_An answering call, a whispered plea._

_He doesn’t think for a second that he should go home with Oikawa, doesn’t think he can restrain himself anymore than this. Doesn’t think he can stand to wake up in the morning and leave him a second time. But he takes his hand anyway; twining their fingers together, not trusting himself enough to voice his response aloud as they exit the club, stealing through city streets and neon lights. Drowns himself in Oikawa, feels something inside give way the moment their lips touch (his walls are crumbling, his heart caving in)._

_After all, Hajime’s always loved Oikawa more than he cared about himself._

 

 

_Codependency is such a curious thing._

***

 

Friday night comes and goes (when the only thing stuck in Hajime’s mind is stay, stay, stay).

As Saturday dawns over the beginning bustle of downtown Tokyo, Hajime burrows further into the blankets. He’s loath to welcome this new day; the self-imposed deadline of his time with Oikawa. He knows the man in his arms is already awake, felt him rustle in his embrace before settling back down, hears his steady breathing and relaxed heartbeat. In another life, in another universe, he imagines this is something he could have had everyday, taken for granted as sequentially given, the natural progression in their unfolding story.

It’s a nice thought, once he gets over the lump in his throat that came with it, and he pushes it back down like it’s something unnecessary (like it’s every true thing he’s not ready to face just yet).

_A little longer. Just a little longer._

But then Oikawa’s moving and his arms are loosening in their hold and he curses at how instinctive this is for him - Oikawa pushing, Hajime pulling; a constant ebb and flow, the surge of the waves as they move to meet the shore. For one brief, blissful moment that’s all there is to it - sleepy synchronisation, the opening act to the first scene of the day. Except Oikawa’s looking at him like he’s a stranger in his bed, and he supposes he is, wishes he was. Surely it wouldn’t hurt half as much if this was just another one night stand, in one day and out the next, no words necessary, the blessed absence of eyes filling with the onset of regret.

_Or maybe it’s always been there. Maybe he’s just deluded himself, pretending he couldn’t see it; a glossed over-detail on the face of every fever dream he never wanted to live without. Which makes sense - he put it there, after all._

In another life, in another universe. But even at the best of times, Hajime’s never been all that good with his words - eloquence escapes him, makes him fumble through speech like hesitation in his hands before finally just throwing the words into someone else’s face - verbal punches, figurative strikes to the gut. So while there are many things he (would, could, but ultimately won’t) might say in this situation, what comes out of his mouth is a single word, sounding utterly bereft of the undercurrent of emotions present within it.

“Oikawa?”

 

 

***

 

 

_“Hajime.”_

_It’s unexpected, how easily the word falls from Oikawa’s - Tooru’s - mouth. Soft and sweet and aching in his heart. “Say that again…Tooru.” Foreheads touch, gentle expressions mirrored on each of their faces. Like a painting, a still-life study of lovers and sakura trees, all pastel pinks and dusted cheeks._

_Rustling leaves, a muffled sound of surprise - the squawk made even more unseemly by Tooru’s attempt to stop it mid-exit - eliciting a fond smile out of him in return. “Stop looking so lovey-dovey at me, Iwa-chan!… I mean, I know you’re totally in love with the great Oikawa-san, but this is really, really embarrassing, okay!” But the blush is spreading even past Tooru’s cheeks, and it’s gratifying to know he’s just as flustered by this recent development of events._

_Hajime’s smile grows ever wider, threatens to stretch across his cheeks like the shit-eating grin it is. “But I am, you know.” Hitched breath, feigned ignorance, “You’re what? You’ll have to be clearer than that, you know.”_

_Old habits die hard, and nonchalance has always been Tooru’s knee-jerk reaction for self-defence._

_“In love with you. I am.” But old habits die hard, and Hajime has long grown accustomed to brushing off any pretence Tooru tried to push across._

_Predictably, Tooru can’t mask his surprise this time around, managing only a garbled “You’re really embarrassing, ahh…” before ducking his head away from Hajime’s face and into his neck; Hajime can feel the happy beam he tries to hide as it rests against his skin._

_It’s unexpected, how easily they adapted to this new routine of secret moments and stolen glances, happiness only infinitesimally detracted by the furrowed brows and less discrete disapproval Hajime catches from Oikawa’s father whenever he thinks Tooru can’t see. But it’s there, a careful reminder, a caution against this fledgling first love they’ve built for themselves. And he knows, knows that first loves don’t always last, but looking at the boy in front of him (childhood companion, closest friend, teenage sweetheart) it’s hard to believe that could ever be true. Not for them, anyway; they’ve always been simple, easy. Iwaizumi and Oikawa, Hajime and Tooru; gravitating around each other’s orbit, the sun and the moon, the sea and the sky._

_In the spring of his third year of high school, Hajime fell in love._

_It didn’t last._

 

_Time is such a terrible thing._

 

***

 

“…hi, Iwa-chan.”

Ah, there it is. The familiar nonchalance, Oikawa’s skilfully feigned disregard that Hajime suspects has done nothing but fester in the time they’ve spent apart. After all, if there’s anything Oikawa hates, it’s being left alone. If there’s anything Oikawa can’t stand, it’s giving everything he had and then some only to come second best in the end.

If there’s anything Oikawa should never know, it’s why Hajime left his side in the first place. So he’ll say goodbye again, and hope and pray Oikawa patches up okay (he holds no such hopes nor expectations for himself).

Because Hajime has always loved Oikawa more than he cares about himself.

And after all, ignorance is bliss.

 

 

***

 

 

_Oikawa’s father lurks at the other end of the hall. A slow, sinking sensation begins to creep across his body, from toes to knees to cold and fearful heart. Hajime knows this, registers it and discards it as something unnecessary, a bothersome menace he’ll get to later, but before that…“Go ahead first,” and he’d meant for it to come out stronger but it escapes as barely louder than a whisper, voice threatening to crack upon enunciating the final syllable. Without being told, he knows that Tooru shouldn’t be around to hear this._

_Tooru looks surprised; in all their time spent playing volleyball, closing in on six years now, not once has there ever been a time Hajime didn’t stick close to Tooru after losing a match. It was something they never really felt the need to discuss - Tooru hates being alone, and Hajime hates leaving him behind. But something in his eyes must’ve given him away (you can’t know someone better than you know yourself without having that knowledge be something shared both ways), and all he gets in response is a soft “I’ll wait for you outside, then” before the door shuts and Hajime is left to deal with imminent unpleasantness alone._

 

***

 

He’s never been the best with words and Oikawa has never dealt with confrontation well, so a full minute passes in excruciating silence before either of them deign to speak a word. In this moment, silence is a shout so loud that Hajime wishes Oikawa would just let loose and scream. Tell him to go, push for him to leave, anything to tamp down the rising song in his blood imploring him to stay, stay, stay.

He can’t entirely believe what he’s about to say next, so he takes a page out of Oikawa’s book and fakes it for all he’s worth -

“Sorry, I meant to leave before you woke up.”

The face before him darkens - pinches together so gradually and subtly that he doesn’t realise Oikawa’s angry until all too suddenly he is - and every cell in his body is screaming wrong wrong wrong, every vein of his blood begging stay stay stay. Thus, while some might argue that this is a very dangerous path to tread, Hajime’s objective is to get himself kicked out; so he forges straight ahead. It is difficult to describe how the ensuing conversation (confrontation?) between them went, but if he had to elaborate, it went something like this:

Oikawa - “…oh.”

Iwaizumi - “…yeah.”

Oikawa - “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

(Spoken dangerously soft. Devoid of emotion, which means Oikawa’s a wreck, which means Hajime needs to get going, just needs to be gone)

Iwaizumi - “Yeah. Yeah. So, uh, I’ll just…be going now…”

(Tentative steps to the door, eyes boring holes at the base of his neck)

Hajime reaches the door, grasps the door knob like it’s something fragile, a tiny bird in his hands; the longer he stays, the more he won’t be able to leave. Opens the door. Lifts one foot to step out, and —

Oikawa - “I can’t believe you’re just going to leave me again.”

(Forced out all in a single breath, ragged and raw and accusatory. Hajime stops dead in his tracks, hears Oikawa draw a rapid intake of air; gets the discomfiting sense he wasn’t supposed to hear what had just been said)

No, no, no. This is bad, this is wrong (he so terribly wishes this were right) and, taking yet another (unintended, undesired) page out of Oikawa’s book, blurts out —

Iwaizumi - “I wish I didn’t have to.”

Silence. A second passes, then another, and Hajime’s counting, one, two, three —

Oikawa - “…what?”

_Fuck._

Iwaizumi - “…I’ve gotta go.”

And so he does, door clicking shut, hands by his head, heart left back inside.

Hajime’s derailing.

 

 

***

 

_“I thought I told you what would happen if this…continued.”_

_He should play his cards carefully, knows that he can’t fuck this up, not something as important as this, but…”What? Our team losing to Shiratorizawa, or me being in love with your son?” Hajime is tired. So, so tired. Tired of losing over and over again, tired of dealing with this over and over again, just wants to comfort Oikawa and be comforted in return. Like two dogs licking each others’ wounds, promises and pledges to get through the next new hurdle together._

_“Excuse me?”_

_This wasn't a hurdle. This was an iron wall, impregnable and untouchable enough that it would put Datekou’s epithet to shame. “You heard me.” He’s not playing anything carefully, this is the opposite of being careful, this is fucking himself over six ways to Sunday; only the memory of Tooru waiting uncharacteristically patiently outside halts his desires to storm out the door._

_“This is exactly why I can’t have my son around someone like…someone like…well. You know what happens now, right.”_

_It wasn’t a question. Hajime’s heart drops somewhere around his feet. Yes, he knows what happens now, and he wonders if all the pleading in the world could have stopped what he knows is coming next. If they’d just scored another two points, if he hadn’t been careless enough to let Tooru’s old man see them in the first place._

_If he was heartless enough to make Tooru decide between a career further pursuing the sport he loved or a life ostracised from his family for a crime he didn’t even commit. Because when you’re a boy who loves another boy, especially one more than a little socially below you, you either kill your love fast or you kill any chance of success in the future. In Hajime’s mind, it wasn’t much of a decision. Who better to know what stands in Tooru’s way than the very person holding him down?_

_Everything inside him hoped it didn’t have to be like this, but he’s nodding and moving and without his consent or input his feet just keep carrying him further and further away. Past Oikawa’s father, the threatening prick; past the doors at the end of the stadium, past Tooru’s waiting figure. Watches the light in his eyes at the sight of Hajime’s face give way to something else as he watches Hajime’s rapidly retreating back._

_Wishes Tooru will chase after him, wishes Tooru will stay where he is lest he further incur the insidious influence of his father._

_Mostly he just wishes they could’ve stayed together._

 

_Happiness is such a fleeting thing._

 

***

 

The stairs seem almost endless, but Hajime doesn’t care.

Belatedly, he realises that he could’ve taken the elevator, but it’s late for that. Besides, even if he did, Hajime doesn’t think he could take standing still so close to Oikawa’s apartment any longer than he has to. So he flies down the flights of stairs - Icarus tries to touch the sky, but he falls, falls, each and every time - and tries to think of other things, pleasant things, things that don’t involve the person approximately three floors above him by now.

He fails.

The stairs are blurring into one long, downwards spiral and the walls are a never-ending blank space and the look on Oikawa’s face, now that he thinks about it, wasn’t quite the anger he had first assumed it to be. It was angry, to be sure; but mostly, it was something else he hadn’t seen for a long time.

Seven years, to be exact.

_Expressive eyes, dancing with light at the sight of him, dimming into dark at the sight of his back._

Hajime stops running. Leans against the wall, sliding all the way until he’s crumpled along the side of it. Lets the memories wash over him, revels in the sensation of drowning that comes with it —

— cold air, warm smiles. Hot summer days and long summer nights. The smack of volleyballs on the court, a well-placed toss and a powerful spike. Cheers screaming his name, cheers screaming Tooru’s name.. when did they stop calling each other by name? Hajime can’t remember anymore, can’t think of much else, really. He’s just tired. So, so tired…

But even if they’ve stopped using each other’s names, Hajime supposes his feelings, at least, always stay the same.

In fact, so absorbed is he in his own wallowing nostalgia, he misses the sound of feet pounding across the stairs. Even after he stopped running, the echoing noise never stopped.

 

***

 

Shoes screech across the tiles, squealing to a halt. Hajime pushes himself back onto his feet, turns around. His knees promptly give way, depositing him (again) in front of one angry, breathless, shaking Oikawa Tooru.

_He wishes Tooru will chase after him, wishes Tooru will stay where he is._

It seems the wish was never his to make to begin with.

“Don’t you _dare_ make me chase after you like that _again_ you stupid, stupid, Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan -Iwaizumi-san - _Hajime._ I’ve done enough running for seven years, don’t you think?”

(Actually, they’d danced around this for years.)

“Say that again.”

_“What.”_

“Say my name again…Tooru.”

 

***

 

A familiar scene under foreign circumstance - it would seem they’ve finally come full circle. A part of Hajime thinks of Oikawa’s father, remembers that if he does what his hands are already reaching out to do, he’ll have more than enough time to consider his (poor) life choices in hell. He doesn’t care. Mostly, he just never wants to see the light leave Tooru’s eyes like that again.

“I don’t wanna.”

“…what.” His hands stop where they are.

“You heard me - you make me run three flights of stairs for you, make me wait seven years for your unromantic plain ass, leave me alone for eighty-four months - do you even know how many springs that makes? I can’t even sort that many days into threes or nines. _God_ , I can’t even believe you’re just watching me have at it at you like this. Who’s the menace now, you stupid, stupid —“

His hands resume their course, reaching out and crushing said self-proclaimed menace to his chest. Lets out a long, ragged breath.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now, you damn idiot.”

“Iwa-chaaaaan —!!”

“Idiotkawa. Just shut up and let me hug you.”

“…okay.”

**intimate /ˈɪntɪmət/**

**_verb._ to state or make known **

In the spring of Iwaizumi Hajime’s twenty-fifth year, love found its way back to him again. It wasn’t all pastel and petals this time, though - no, this was something more substantial than that - heavy and light all at the same time, private and peaceful and almost painfully _intimate_. Here they were, the truth stripped of all its pretence, two souls no longer disillusioned and in denial.

Hajime never wanted anything else.

 

***

 

**[epilogue]**

 

Sunday dawned across downtown Tokyo, filling the apartment with slow movements, languid breathing and early morning light. From under the sheets, two figures tangled so closely together, rustling against the blankets only to burrow together even closer. Upon closer inspection, it could be observed that they were holding hands - fingers entwined, leaving no space at all for where one person’s ended and the other’s began. There was quiet conversation -

“Your dad’s going to have my head for this, you know.”

“I don’t care, your head was always too hard anyway.”

_“Tooru.”_

“I’m joking! Besides, if worst comes to worst,we can just run away together.”

“…I’d rather not. Really, really rather not.”

“How rude, I waited all this time and you won’t even run away with me, Hajime?”

“Please stop killing the mood any more than this. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Don’t go back to sleep on me! I was about to tell you I still do, too.”

“…you do what, exactly.”

“…love you, that is. I still do.”

“Oh. Oh. Well… I knew that, dumbass.”

_“Hajime.”_

“…what? You already know I still love you anyway, don’t you.”

“You really are not romantic at all, Hajime. But I guess that’s okay, since you don’t need anyone else to tell you they’re in love with you but me~!”

“Go back to sleep, Tooru.”

“Okay.”

(…)

“Also…I do. I do love you.”

“Mm, okay…I love you, too.”

 

***

 

A study once said that it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. However, old habits die hard; sometimes, making new ones aren’t really necessary. It’s good enough to just slip back into old ones.

 

Love is such a lasting thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after everything i put these two through, i remain entirely unapologetic for a sappy ending, kinda


End file.
